


Which Describes How You're Feeling (Check All That Apply)

by autoschediastic



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-23
Updated: 2011-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh baby," Adam says, and tosses him the keys to the Mustang. "Nothing says I love you better than getting tested together."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Which Describes How You're Feeling (Check All That Apply)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nationalboner](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nationalboner).



Tommy flexes his arm, hand cupped over the crook of his elbow as they head out to the car. His nose crinkles. "I kinda feel like we just got hitched."

"Oh baby," Adam says, and tosses him the keys to the Mustang. "Nothing says I love you better than getting tested together."

Tommy groans as he snatches the keyring out of the air. "Nothing says I love you like letting me drive your fancy-ass car."

"That too."

There's more than a spring in Adam's step as he rounds the front to the passenger side. Boyfriends, partners, whatever the buzzword of the year is, that's what they are. A little over a week ago, Tommy started making comments about condoms being inconvenient to always cart around. Anybody who's ever had sex knows condoms are _not_ inconvenient. They're practical. Walking around in a well-fucked mess is only sexy for about ten minutes. Unless there's a second round on the horizon or a shower handy, after that it gets kinda gross.

Then yesterday, almost three months since they became an official item (don't even get Adam started on that one--he's not deliberately counting the days, but they stick in his head, alright), Tommy casually mentioned that he had an appointment at the clinic, and if Adam wanted to tag along, they could probably squeeze him in.

Which all comes down to Tommy, in his un-ninjalike way, saying he wants to go it bareback. Cloud nine's got nothing on Adam.

Settling into the driver's seat and scooting it forward a few inches, Tommy says, "So two weeks, huh."

"Two weeks," Adam agrees, slinging his arm across the seatback to comb his fingers through the hair at Tommy's nape. He can't wait. They never did Christmas when he was a kid, but he imagines this tingling, giddy anticipation is exactly what it would've felt like. Probably slightly less x-rated, though.

"We could've got a rush on it if you'd given that dude your number," Tommy says, fiddling unnecessarily with the mirrors. There's not that much of a height difference between the two of them sitting down; all the poking around is him marking his territory. The way he thinks, as long as his ass is in the driver's seat, the car is his. It's part of this whole nesting thing Tommy does. His bunk on the bus looked like somebody uprooted half of a college dorm room and crammed it in there. Over the last couple of months, a good half of Tommy's accumulated life flotsam and jetsam have steadily migrated into Adam's house.

"I'm taken," Adam says happily, freaking _delirious_ with joy. He loves how that sounds. Loves it so, so much. He's taken. Spoken for. Committed. The car starts up with a warm purr he wants to echo all the way down to his bones.

Tommy slants him a sideways glance. "You flirted."

"I always flirt. Flirting is harmless."

"While he was sticking you with a needle."

Adam bites the inside of his lip. He's not going to say it. He's not. They've been pulling this joke since the day they met. But then, "Baby, are you jealous?"

Flicking on the left turn signal, Tommy says, completely straight-faced, "I don't like to see my man spreading his candy around."

Fireworks to rival Chinese New Year go off in Adam's belly. They burst out in a bright laugh that makes Tommy grin so wide Adam can count his teeth. Tommy is all his, and Adam wants to kiss him. Adam needs to be kissing him right now.

"Driving," Tommy warns, reading Adam's intent clear on his face.

"When you park," Adam says, "we're going to make out in the driveway like teenagers."

A sweet hint of a flush blossoms high on Tommy's cheeks. For a guy with the filthiest mouth Adam's ever heard, and one not shy about using it, it's surprisingly easy to get under Tommy's skin. The best decision Adam's ever made was to go with the split-second urge to shove his tongue down Tommy's throat on national television. The way into Tommy's pants and straight to his heart is through his mouth, and Adam's never been so grateful to be the amazing kisser he most definitely is. He's also incredibly grateful for six months on tour where five nights out of seven he practically _had_ to make out with Tommy or risk a fan revolt.

"You gonna try to grope me?" Tommy asks as they idle half a mile way from a red light.

"Of course!" Since Tommy's foot is firmly on the brake, Adam sees absolutely no reason why he can't slide a hand up the inside of Tommy's thigh, leave it resting warm and heavy close to his cock. "What kind of self-respecting teenager wouldn't cop a feel?"

In the middle of eyeballing Adam's hand suspiciously, Tommy breaks out into a laugh. "Dude, what the hell kind of teenager is self-respecting?"

"One that lets his boyfriend drive his overpriced phallic symbol of a car through LA rush hour traffic, that's who."

Tommy makes a considering noise low in his throat. Muscles flex in his leg as the car rolls forward about a dozen feet. His knee bumps against the door when they stop again, legs splayed wide and his cock nestled up right against the side of Adam's hand. Tossing an arch glance down, Tommy says, "That's me saying thanks."

Flipping his hand around, Adam cups the whole works through Tommy's jeans, thumb stretched out along the fly. Foot mashing the brake, Tommy rocks up lazily, humping Adam's palm with his head tipped back against the seat, eyes bedroom-heavy. He's not exactly hard but not exactly soft either, and getting more and more interested the longer Adam lets him get away with it. Giving him a quick squeeze and relishing the startled breath sucked in through his nose, Adam settles back. "Save it for the driveway, baby."

"Fucker," Tommy says, shoving a hand down the front of his jeans to adjust his dick, no attention paid to the woman one car over trying to stare holes through the door. "If you're gonna blueball me again, I'm gonna go good little Catholic schoolgirl all up on your ass."

"You'll last ten minutes," Adam declares. Thinking about Tommy's ability to keep his legs together so far, though, he amends, "Five."

Hanging hard on a left, Tommy says, "Fuck you, Lambert. Fuck you and your fucking gorgeous dick."

"Okay," Adam says, beaming out at the surrounding sea of glinting glass and steel.

*

Two weeks really isn't a very long time. When it's all that's standing between Adam's naked dick and Tommy's ass, though, it's an eternity. There's stuff to distract him--promos and appearances, a couple of remixes like the one he's in the studio working on today, all things he loves and would never dream of resenting. He's not sure if it's better or worse now that Tommy tags along more often than not. Since Tommy's video game obsession hit full speed, he picked up a PSP, loaded up a couple of memory cards with television shows and movies, and instead of vegging out on the couch, waiting for Adam to wander home, he finds somewhere near wherever Adam is to do his zombie impersonation. Having Tommy _right there_ while Adam tries to work, tossing an occasional smile Adam's way, or when Adam's lucky a brief we're-both-professionals closed-mouth peck, is driving him crazy.

Nobody who signs on with Adam is going to mind at all if he sticks his tongue down his boyfriend's throat when said boyfriend is curled up adorably in the tiniest ball imaginable, swimming in an obviously oversized--and therefore obviously Adam's--hoodie. Anybody who works with them is probably _expecting_ it given the staggering number of pictures on the internet of them making out. And those aren't just photos from the show anymore. Tommy might not be one for sharing his thoughts and opinions with total strangers, but his philosophy on public displays of affection is no amount of PDA is too much PDA.

"You're doing it again," Tommy says, not looking up from the tiny screen. One of his earbuds is dangling loosely over his shoulder, wire wound between his fingers.

Knocking back a mouthful of coconut water, Adam says, "Am not." He looks at the notes scribbled into the margin on his lyrics sheet. Fortunately there's no random scrawl of Tommy's name with a bubbly heart encircling it.

"You totally are." Jabbing a button, Tommy drops his elbow to the arm of the chair and his chin into his hand. "Gazin' at me with your starry eyes."

"I was picturing you naked," Adam lies.

"Yeah?" Uncurling from the corner of the couch, Tommy sinks down in a careless sprawl, hands tucked into the pockets of his stolen hoodie and knees spread wide. "How 'bout now?"

"Nope," Adam says, swinging up off the chair he's straddling to plant a hand on the couch beside Tommy's head, lean down close. "Now I'm thinking about hauling your cock out through your fly and sucking you off."

Tommy doesn't even bother to glance over at the door left wide open after everybody filed out for a break. Gaze caught on Adam's, he slides his hand down, boldly cups his dick through his jeans. "Got a call this morning."

That's not at all close to what Adam had been expecting to come flying out of his mouth. It takes a second for the words to make their way through to Adam's brain, and by then he's already got his hand on Tommy's, pressing it down harder onto his cock. "Wait, what?"

"Green light." Tommy's hand flexes beneath Adam's in a tiny squeeze.

Adam's heart gives one slow, hard thump. He'd sort of known Tommy was clean, but now he _knows_ it knows it. "Did you get my-"

"No patty cake in the sound room!" Brian calls as he marches back in from the break room with a can of Coke Zero in hand. He stops short as soon as he spots Adam's hand between Tommy's legs, both of their hands curved over his cock. "Oh wow. Actual patty cake is occurring."

"Dude, sorry," Tommy says, sounding lazy and not that sorry at all as Adam pulls reluctantly away. "You know what he's like. Can't keep it in his pants, can't keep out of mine."

"That's cool and all," Brian says, "but, uh. Don't get jizz on the equipment."

"Not on _your_ equipment," Tommy says through an impish leer.

"Oh god, shut up," Adam cuts in before Tommy gets him booted out on his ass with only a half-finished song to show for his morning spent cooped up not getting laid. He fumbles around a little stupidly, picking up his papers, poking around for his phone. It's been on silent since they got here. He might've gotten the call. He's sure he's clean. He likes his life too much to risk it for a casual hook-up, and there haven't been any of those for awhile. But a call makes it official.

"I got your phone," Tommy says, already curled back up with his movie.

"Oh." Adam bites at the inside of his bottom lip. "Did I, a, um, you know?"

Looking up from beneath his lashes, a smaller, secretive smile curving his mouth, Tommy says, "Green light, baby."

Adam drops into his chair like a sack of potatoes, flailing a little to keep his balance when his aim turns out to be total crap, half of his ass hanging off one side. They're both clean. Healthy and clean and _together_ , and they need to get out of this studio right now. He bolts back up, stuffing papers haphazardly into folders. The drive home is going to take too long at this hour. There's a hotel two blocks north. It's even a nice hotel. A nice hotel that won't bat an eyelash at their distinct lack of luggage.

"Easy, tiger," Tommy laughs. "We got time."

"But," Adam says, looking from Tommy to Brian--who's staring at him like he's lost his mind, but Brian gives him a lot of looks like that when they're in the studio--and back again. "We could reschedule. Brian, can we reschedule?"

"Sure," Brain starts, sort of doubtfully, but Tommy butts in, saying, "Never mind, man. Studio's only booked for another two hours, right?" Tommy fixes Adam with a steady look, all heat and intent, and Adam flails blindly for his chair again, putting his ass squarely back in it before his knees give out. "Two hours, babyboy."

"Right." Laughing, ignoring the slight pitch of hysteria to it, Adam drags a hand back through his hair. Two hours. He's already waited two weeks. He can do two more hours.

"You guys are weird," Brian says, very matter-of-factly, and kicks his chair around. "Let's do this."

"We are so gonna do this," Adam promises, and Tommy's hidden smile flashes.

*

Outside the studio, Adam says, "We could-"

"Keys," Tommy says, cutting him off. He wriggles his outstretched fingers.

"Why?" Adam asks slowly, suspicious.

"You got that look on your face." Tommy circles a finger vaguely around his own as if to demonstrate. "Like you're gonna try to go all bumper cars or some shit. Gimme."

"I waited," Adam grumbles, fishing out his keys to reluctantly hand over. "And I let you veto the whole hotel idea, which by the way, was an awesome idea."

Once Tommy's got the keys, he steps right into Adam's space, slings his arms around Adam's neck. "So like, I'm gonna tell you something, and it's gonna blow your mind. You ready?"

Pretty sure there's not much of his mind left to blow, Adam nods.

"You sure?"

Adam hooks a couple fingers in Tommy's belt and yanks him closer. "Spill it."

"I want the first time we do this to be in our bed." While Adam stands there, dumbstruck, Tommy finds between them an empty micron of space to wiggle closer through. "See what I did there? With the like, possessive adjective thing, you like that?"

"Yeah," Adam says in a hoarse croak he can't blame on six hours of studio time, "yeah, caught that," and he catches Tommy for a kiss right there in the middle of the parking lot, one hand cupping Tommy's jaw and the other splayed out in the small of his back. Technically it isn't their bed. Tommy still has an apartment somewhere that he theoretically lives in, and the house is Adam's, along with the bed that Adam picked out on his own shortly before Christmas. But Tommy's laid claim to half of that bed--three quarters on some nights; for a tiny guy Tommy's sprawl takes up a lot of space--and Tommy tastes like Starbucks and Gummi Bears, a plastic sweetness that brings Adam back to endless nights on American highways, tires rolling smoothly over asphalt as Tommy curled up sleepily in his bed sharing kisses that were never meant to lead to things like _their_ bed.

Tommy licks at Adam's teeth one last time and eases back down from his toes. "C'mon. The sooner we get home, the sooner you can show me what it's like to fuck without a rubber."

They're in the car, pulling out of the lot, Tommy's hand turned palm up by the gear shift and fingers laced with Adam's, before the full implication of what Tommy said nails Adam in the gut. It can't be, though. In almost thirty years, there's no way Tommy's completely avoided fucking without a condom. He's had steady girlfriends. He's been a fucking teenager, for Christ's sake. But the idea has wormed its way into Adam's head, gnawing on his fevered brain, and he has to know.

Trying to figure out a tactful way to bring it up seems like a waste of time. On top of that, Tommy's always gone for frank when he's asking Adam questions, so following suit sounds like the way to go. What comes out of Adam's mouth, though, is, "You meant for us, right? I mean without a condom, you were talking about us."

Attention on switching lanes, Tommy says, "I didn't let somebody jab a needle in me so I could go bang Bieber."

"That's not what I meant," Adam says, and flaps a hand at the look Tommy throws him. "Not that part. The part where you've had sex without a condom before."

"Um, no." Tommy flicks a glance in the rearview, smoothly cutting into the next lane with a satisfied smile. A few seconds later he hits the brakes, turning to face Adam as they idle in traffic. "But condoms break and aren't a hundred precent and shit, so you gotta be careful."

Adam opens his mouth. No sound ekes out. He closes it, swallows, and tries again. "Are you serious?"

Tommy nods, says, "Yeah, of course. I mean, shit, man. Aside from all that crap, like the last thing I needed was my girl knocked up. That's for life. And you're the only guy that it hasn't been just like, a quick jerk or something, so. Yeah."

Possibly Adam should let Tommy's hand go, mostly since Tommy needs to shift gears but also because Adam's about ten seconds from crushing his fingers to a pulp. They need to stop having these conversations in moving vehicles. Or they need a chauffeur, so someone else can worry about not getting them killed while Adam devotes his time to more important things, like kissing Tommy stupid.

"We need to get home now," Adam says, squeaky and strained.

Through a lopsided grin, Tommy says, "Workin' on it."

"No, I mean right now." In an effort to keep from ripping into Tommy's jeans right there on the highway, Adam firmly grasps the handle on the door. "I can't believe you-- and you didn't _tell_ me, and all I've been thinking about is fucking you."

"I like that part," Tommy says, the car thankfully moving again. "Like, apparently, it'll feel bigger? You're already pretty huge and all, but still, that's kinda cool."

Adam stares at Tommy's mouth. There are words coming out of it--pretty awesome ones--but not the ones he expects to hear from a guy who spent most his life giving instead of taking. There are some things about him Adam still doesn't get, probably won't get even twenty years from now, but why he hasn't yet put the obvious out on the table is one of those staggeringly confusing things that he really needs to explain.

"But," Adam starts.

"Oh come on," Tommy says, inches from taking off somebody's fender as he darts into another lane with a clear shot to the exit ramp. "Fucking Sunday drivers."

"I'm not fucking you," Adam blurts.

Both of Tommy's eyebrows fly for his hairline. "Dude."

"No, I mean," Adam says, grabbing on harder as Tommy takes the corner at thirty miles per. "Your first time barebacking, _ever_. You're fucking me."

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Tommy saunters through twisting residential streets with the speedometer barely creeping up on twenty. His gaze flicks sideways. "Yeah?"

"If the universe doesn't expire before we get there. Jesus, Tommy, your _first time_." And it gets to be Adam's. In the last few years, he's mostly gotten over the whole firsts thing. The concept is hot but somebody who knows what they're doing in bed generally leads to a better time had by all. With Tommy, he's gotten amazingly lucky. Tommy had that whole never-done-it-before eager to try everything vibe coupled with a pretty clear idea of how to go about it. Adam's wasn't the first dick he's touched, but the first one he's had inside him, the _only_ , and now Adam gets to be another one of his first-and-onlys.

"Look at you," Tommy says, sliding the car into park. "Bet you got wood already."

"You're not seriously telling me you don't," Adam says, tugging at his seatbelt. He tumbles out of the car, slapping his pockets looking for the keys to get the front door open when he remembers Tommy's got them. Tommy, who's climbing out of the car like it's all no big deal. "Oh my god, _come on_."

Grabbing Tommy's wrist, Adam hauls him up the walk to the front door, snatching at the keys and jamming them into the lock. He forgets all about the alarm until it starts beeping a warning at him, but Tommy's already there calmly keying in the code, closing the door behind them. The second the lock clicks shut, Adam's on him, shoving him back against the door, both hands tangled up in Tommy's hair and their mouths fused together. Tommy makes a surprised, happy noise, as if this turn of events is in some way totally unexpected, and melts into Adam's kiss, hands grasping at Adam's waist.

"You know," Adam says, pleased when Tommy's usual no-why-are-you-stopping groan echoes through the front hall, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't want to fuck me."

"Of course I wanna fuck you," Tommy says, hauling Adam back in by his hips.

"But?" Adam prompts.

"I can pretty much figure what that's gonna be like without a rubber. Like, awesome and all, really fucking amazing, but." Tommy chews on his bottom lip and puffs out a breath that stirs his hair. "You talk like a lot about coming in my ass. Not just lately, either. I mean you talk about it a _lot_ when you're close to blowing it. And it's all, 'Tommy, fuck, want to see you dripping wet, baby, wanna be able to roll you over and shove it in when you're still slick and full of it'," and hearing it like that should make it ridiculous, not to mention sort of embarrassing, but Tommy's working the whole almost-breathless thing and grinding against Adam's thigh, so it's not so bad. "And I just, I want that, too."

"You make a really fucking convincing argument," Adam says, hauling Tommy off the door.

"Yeah?" Tommy says, stumbling for the first few steps before he gets his feet under him, plasters himself to Adam's back as they head for the stairs. "'Cause, like, I totally want to fuck you after, maybe while I'm still wet and all. That'd be hot. Your come running down my legs when I'm giving it to you."

At the top of the stair, Adam almost misses the landing, sure that there's a mountain left to climb between him and getting Tommy spread out on their bed. Tommy laughs, says something like, "Yeah, you love it," and then Tommy isn't saying anything at all because his mouth is full of Adam's tongue. Picture frames clatter as Adam muscles him back against the wall, pins him there and kisses his filthy, dirty, _wonderful_ mouth. They could do it here. He could turn Tommy around, bend him over right here in the hallway and Tommy would let him, would spread his legs and take it.

But the bed is right around the corner, and Tommy wanted this to happen there. Slapping both hands to Tommy's ass, Adam tugs, and with a grin pressed to Adam's mouth Tommy gives a short hop up, legs wrapping snugly around Adam's hips. "That's it, baby," Adam says, slurred by Tommy's tongue flicking at his, "you're gonna love this, it's gonna feel so, so good."

"Yeah it is," Tommy says, pawing at the back of Adam's shirt, trying to tug it off while the hem's trapped between them. "We're gonna get really fucking naked, and you're gonna fuck me bare, shoot it straight in my ass and then you're gonna finger me, okay? You're gonna cram your fingers in me and smear all that mess around and really let me _feel_ it."

Not if Adam creams his shorts first, he's not. He drops Tommy onto the bed, hunched over as Tommy refuses to let go of his shirt, hauling it halfway off over his head. Stripping down is a crazy, uncoordinated scramble, Tommy's hands bumping into his when he goes for his jeans, again when he goes for Tommy's, and then they're naked, Tommy stretched out on the bed, arms above his head and heels hooked on the edge of the mattress, knees spread slutty-wide showing off.

"Tommy, fuck," Adam says, yanking open the beside drawer to fish out one of the bottles of lube.

"Yeah, come on." Tommy plants his foot on Adam's thigh when Adam kneels on the bed, uses it to scoot in further from the edge. "Not too much," he says when Adam slicks up his fingers, "want you to open me up on your dick."

Breathing hard, Adam presses a line of kisses to the inside of Tommy's thigh, searching for a scrap of control. He rubs his fingers over Tommy's balls, getting them wet, and presses against Tommy's hole with not as much lube as he usually would. Muscle clenches tight, pure reflex, then loosens, inviting the slow slide inside. Tommy's so tight still, even after months of this, tight and tiny and perfect with the way he feels everything so deeply, exactly what he's thinking written on his face as he arches up, fucks down. It's like he never expects it to feel as good as it does, or maybe that it's even better than he remembers. He fists both hands in the duvet--they should really stop, pull that thing off before it gets stained again--and rolls his hips up, makes like he's riding Adam's dick instead of a single finger.

"One more, really quick," Tommy says, and, "c'mon, fuck," when Adam doesn't move fast enough, so then Adam ends up moving too fast, two fingers shoved hard into Tommy's ass, making him twist away and cry out. Before Adam can apologise, Tommy says, "Oh yeah, fuck yeah, c'mon, do that with your dick, can't wait to feel it," and Adam isn't sure what the hell is going on anymore. He's better than some fumbling, over-eager guy who can't wait to get his dick wet. He's careful with Tommy, he treats him right. And Tommy loves it, gets off on it, doesn't even need a hand on his cock most times.

But Tommy's saying, "Come on, come _on_ ," reaching down between his legs to tug on Adam's dick, rub the head over his slippery balls and then lower, letting it push against his hole.

"Tommy," Adam chokes, on fire from the inside out because Tommy's not nearly slick enough, "wait."

"Yeah," Tommy says, dazed-sounding, and lets go. "Right, we should," and he rolls over onto his belly, gets up on his knees as he snags one of the pillows from the head of the bed, tucks it close to his chest with his arms around it. "Roll me back over when you got me fucked open."

"Jesus," Adam says, and, "Jesus," again when once doesn't feel like enough. Tommy's back is one smooth, arched line, pale all the way down to his ass where his skin darkens to a sweet pink flush around his hole. While Adam's stuck staring, he reaches down and up through his legs, frames his asshole with a wide spread of his fingers. He plays around the rim with his middle finger, face turned to the side so Adam can watch the flutter of his eyelashes, the sharper crinkle of his brow when he angles up and in, starts fucking himself.

"S'good, c'mon," Tommy says, dragging at barely-loosened muscle, showing off a glimpse of darker, delicate flesh, "your turn."

Adam's not even thinking anymore as his naked cockhead rubs along Tommy's crack, a clever crook of Tommy's finger hitching it against his hole. "In," Tommy's saying, low rough chant, "fuck, in, stick it in," and he's too tight to take it, too fucking tight and not slick enough and he's opening up for the blunt push anyway, bottom lip caught and mottled white in his teeth. As easy as Tommy is, he's never been the easiest fuck; he's tiny and Adam isn't, and Adam's always made sure he's ready before, never fucked him loose like this, and it's fucking incredible to feel him squeezing down on Adam's dick, his body trying to resist. Adam falters and Tommy moans, wrecked and so beautiful as he tells Adam to keep going, _pleads_ for it, and Adam grabs onto his hip, fucks in past the tight clench to slide in deep. Tommy's voice breaks on a startled cry, a rush of pure shameful heat sparking along Adam's nerves because that sounded like it hurt and Adam _liked_ it, and then it's a steady _oh-oh-oh_ from Tommy as he rocks back, tries to get Adam fucking deeper.

"Oh," Tommy says again, rougher, long and dragged out, "s'fucking _good_ , keep going, fuck. _Fuck_." He rubs his face against the pillow, and his hands won't stay still, clutching first at wrinkled, sweat-dampened cotton and then his own thigh, short nails digging in, scratching four bright red brands across pale skin. "Feels fucking _huge_ , fuck."

Adam doesn't want that to get to him like it does, shocking him straight to the core with how much he wants to make Tommy feel it, this driving urge to take Tommy apart burning through his brain, making him hold on tighter, fuck in harder. Tommy flails for a grip on the bedclothes, seams stretched to breaking as he twists them around his fists, tries to brace for the smack of Adam's body into his. He's too tight still for Adam to really go at him. With one more shallow thrust, Adam stays buried deep, grinding into him, shredding his voice to ribbons with a couple of short, sharp fucks, keeping at it until it's too much for Tommy to take, pushing him past that place in his head where he wants this to the one where he needs it.

The tension winding Tommy tight snaps, his body going lax and heavy in Adam's hold. He's only pushed Tommy this deep a few times before, the first by accident and then the second almost a month later because it honesty scared the shit out of Adam. Tommy's pretty grabby-hands anyway, not afraid to ask for what he wants, but like this he's willing to take almost anything. He's not out of it, not by a long shot. He's got control enough to tell Adam when he doesn't like something, and that's the part that makes Adam's stomach drop. There's _nothing_ he doesn't like.

"Baby?" Adam asks, smoothing a hand along Tommy's side.

Tommy shudders, moaning wordlessly. His hands knead at the rucked-up duvet as his knees skid wider, his spine arching sharply, the tremor that goes through him tightening him up even more around Adam's dick. He tries to say something else and all Adam catches is his name and _please_.

Dropping down, Adam brushes a kiss to the sharp wing of Tommy's shoulder blade and earns another shuddering moan. "Hang on," he says, and gives a startled hiss when Tommy reaches back over one shoulder, a hand fisting in his hair tugging hard, keeping him from drawing away.

"Like that," Tommy groans, "stay here, s'fucking awesome." When Adam starts to say no, he's too heavy--because he _is_ ; he covers Tommy completely like this, crushing him into the mattress--Tommy says, weak and thready, "Fuck, I _know_ , fucking love it," twitching like he wants to grind on Adam's cock.

"Alright," Adam says, rolling his hips to give Tommy what he wants, "alright, open up for me," pointless when Tommy's about as open as he's going to get, but the words shiver down Tommy's spine regardless, make him twist and groan. "You like me holding you down? Making you take it, knowing I'm gonna come in you?"

Tommy pants, "Fuck, yes," elbows digging into the bed as he grinds against the sheets. "Can't wait. You're gonna, gonna keep fucking me, right? Gonna," and he stops on a sharp gasp, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open, body clamping down hard on Adam's cock. He keeps trying to talk while he comes, a stuttering mess of words that don't make any sense but Adam somehow still understands.

"Anything," Adam promises, "whatever you want," and Tommy bucks into him, winding up tighter instead of falling lax as he finishes. Tommy's bitten-red lips form soundless words, the same one over and over. Shoving a hand beneath him, through the sticky warm mess all over his belly, Adam hauls him up, holds him steady to fuck into him fast and hard and careless. The dirty wet smack drives more noises out of him, shaky, desperate ones like he's still waiting to come, and that's it for Adam. Yanking Tommy back hard onto his dick, he gives in, so caught up in the pleasure razing his nerves he doesn't notice Tommy shoving at the bed until it's too late. He falls back on his knees, balance gone, and Tommy's already sitting up and back, _down_ , before he can react, his cock buried all the way. Aftershocks echo through Tommy's body, spiking to a shudder as Adam tries to grind deeper, chasing after the way Tommy's muscles twitch and insides flutter around his bare cock, wanting to feel it all, everything.

"Yeah, come on," Tommy says, bracing one hand on his thigh, his other arm stretched up and back to hold onto Adam's shoulder. "Get your fingers in there, please, c'mon."

Catching Tommy around the waist, Adam's listening before thinking it through, worming his hand between them to rub his fingers around Tommy's hole still stuffed full, pushing the tip of one in beside his cock. Tommy grunts a curse and a please, shaking so much Adam's afraid to keep going. Another rough please spurs Adam on, forcing his way in to slick, clutching heat, curling his finger to press against delicate flesh, let Tommy feel it.

Tommy's hands clutch at Adam's wrist caught up against his belly. "More. Keep going, more."

Sucking in a breath, Adam lifts Tommy up off his cock, cutting a disappointed groan short with the thick knot of three fingers shoved deep in its place. "Push down a little, baby," he says, gently stroking Tommy on the inside, "came in you really deep."

"Fuck," Tommy groans. He wets his lips, brow furrowed, then his body slowly loosens. His breath hitches, stutters free and hitches again as the push of Adam's fingers turns slicker, easier. "S'fucked up," he says, a small noise caught in his throat. "Fuck, your fucking _come_ in me, Adam."

"Like it?" Adam asks, keeping his rhythm slow, easy, trying to bring Tommy down.

"Yeah, I." Biting his lip, Tommy tenses up. He pulls in a breath, blows it out slowly, quivering slightly as he forces muscle lax again. "Sounds so fucking dirty."

Adam crooks his fingers and drags them free, gets Tommy's rim wet with it before shoving back in, loud and obscene in the quiet, and Tommy says, "Fuck, _fuck_ , do it again, lemme hear it."

"I can do this any time you want," Adam says, mouth pressed to the slant of Tommy's shoulder as he fucks Tommy wet and filthy with his fingers, spreading them wide to exaggerate the noise. "Come in you and get you off like this. Or I could make you wait. Leave you wet until I want to fuck you again."

"Fucking kinky son of a bitch," Tommy groans, shaking so hard the words stutter. He won't say stop. He'll let Adam keep going until he does something crazy like comes dry, or until he gets hard again, or until Adam decides he's had enough.

Pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to the peak of his spine, Adam lets his fingers slip free one last time, hand pressed to Tommy's ass with fingers curved along the crack, snug against his hole. "Is that a no?" Adam asks.

"Duvet's trashed," Tommy says instead of an answer. "Came all over the fucker."

Adam shrugs. "Worth it."

"I think," Tommy starts, scrubbing a hand back through his hair and pausing like he needs to figure out exactly what it is he thinks. "Like, we could say fuck it. Forget cleaning up, have a nap, and you could wake me up with your dick in my ass."

Adam makes a noise like a grunt, he's nailed so hard with a picture of Tommy, sleep-soft, loose, fucked into startled wakefulness, the way his eyes would fly open one moment, go dazed and heavy the next. "Speaking of kinky," he says.

"You love it," Tommy says, finally crawling off Adam's lap to stretch out on the bed. His nose wrinkles slightly. "Man, I'm really wet. Kinda hot." He catches the look on Adam's face, breaks out into a wide grin. "Oh yeah, you like that. Got me all messy."

Since the duvet's written off, Adam wipes his hand clean on it. He settles down on his side, head propped up on one hand, the other hand on Tommy's hip, thumb stroking the sharp jut of bone. "You're gonna let me mess you up even more soon, aren't you."

"Hell yeah," Tommy says, smiling lazily. He slides his leg over Adam's, invites the dip of Adam's hand between his legs, the stroke of gentle fingers over sticky skin. He's hot to the touch, probably sore, but the only thing showing on his face before he scoots in close for a kiss is eager anticipation. "Really, really soon."


End file.
